


Anonymorous

by SuperficialPeasant



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 10k Words of Feelings, Alec Catches Feelings, Alec Lightwood is Brave, Alec and Magnus Have Sex For An Audience, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Because Clary is a "Visionary" Artist, Boys Challenging Their own Hang Ups, Boys Challenging Themselves, Boys Kissing Boys And Being Vulnerable, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood Friendship, In Which Alec Steps In To Save The Day With His Penis, Intimacy, M/M, Magnus Catches Feelings, Malec, Malec Develops A Connection, Mundane Alec Lightwood, Mundane Magnus Bane, Mundane Malec AU, Mutual Catching Of Feelings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Public Sex, Side dose of Clizzy, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, While Having Public Sex, sex as art, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperficialPeasant/pseuds/SuperficialPeasant
Summary: When one of Clary’s art exhibition performers drops out last minute, Alec steps in to help. Unfortunately that also means he’ll be having sex with a stranger in public.





	Anonymorous

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy 10k words of...I don't even know what this is.  
I hope you like.  
x
> 
> #SuperficialPea  
Twitter: [@SuperficialPea](http://twitter.com/SuperficialPea)

****“Yeah, no, I’m on my way to the door now,” Alec huffs, stuffing his phone between his jaw and shoulder while listening to his sister talk in quick, hushed panic as he shuts the cab door. He makes his way up the street, balancing a cardboard tray of hot lattes, “Steps away. I’m coming to you. Where am I going?”

“Through the entrance and to the left,” Isabelle replies, voice strained, “God, I don’t even know what to do.”

He’s not entirely sure of the situation yet, but it's something about Clary’s main art piece falling apart last minute. He’s been on the receiving end of many emergency phone calls in the three years his sister has been dating her, enough to see the challenges and breakages and installation issues that came with being an exhibiting artist. Except this happened to be a little more dire. Clary’s latest show was due to open to the public in two hours. And central pieces - as he’d once been well informed - were the table everything else was set on. Without Clary’s main art piece, her entire exhibition was in danger of flopping.

“It’ll be fine. I got her one of her pumpkin spiced things. Everything will be okay.”

“No, Alec, you---She’s been working toward this for a year. A _ year---_”

Oh, he knew _ exactly _where his sister was coming from. Because he’d been on the receiving end of many other phone calls too. The teary, late night type of phone calls. Clary’s career had taken flight in recent months, and his sister is so proud and in love with her that the downsides - like waiting up, being alone and getting cancelled on last minute - tends to sting in tender places. But it’s never hard work for Alec to remind her where her heart is. Not when she’s the happiest he’s ever seen her.

He strolls from the street where the last of the afternoon’s sun is waning, up the steps into the _ Invisible Dog__’s_ main gallery hall, where the large white brick space holds Clary’s work. He makes a left into the adjacent gallery where Clary paces the far wall on her phone, fingers pulling on her hair like she might rip the whole chunk out if she doesn’t get the answer she wants. He catches Isabelle sitting on a steel-blue, velvet chaise in the center of the room, and she rushes to him for a much needed hug.

“Hi,” she mumbles miserably against his shirt, “Thanks for coming.”

He moves the tray of hot drinks to the side, slides his phone into his pocket and wraps his free arm around her in a big, comforting squeeze.

The call across the room clearly doesn’t go to plan, because Clary slides to a puddle on the floor and stares at the wall, void of emotion. The total opposite of her very mouthy, bubbly, fiery self. Frankly, it’s a little frightening.

Alec pats Isabelle’s back, “Fill me in. What happened?”

“One of the performers for her main piece dropped out. Suddenly decides to go to Portland to visit his aunt - out of fuckin' _ nowhere _ \- and none of her back ups are available on such short notice. _ That fuckin' guy."_

Back across the room, Clary gains enough semblance of self to slam her cellphone down, and she presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. There, she proceeds to scream into her forearms with the agonized cry of a _ banshee, _and Alec senses an uncomfortable amount of tears on the horizon.

He sees the helpless tears already forming in his sister’s eyes as she stares over at her girlfriend, and he quickly hands her a latte like it might help plug them up.

“What was the main piece?”

Isabelle sighs unhappily, finding solace in the smell of coffee wafting from her cup, “_Anonymorous_. She intended to use two performers to build a real-life connection for the audience to watch. People have been anticipating it for weeks. The gallery director offered her another exhibition run in September just for coming up with the idea.”

“Okay, so why can’t she step in instead? Or you for that matter?”

“Because Clary and I don’t want to have sex with other people.”

“What has _that_ got to do with anything?”

Isabelle turns to him with a peculiar look, like she’s caught him in a lie somewhere, “Remember? The amazing, interpretative living art performance with the two strangers? The one I’ve been telling you about for _months?"_

“You mean the people having _sex?_” Alec’s stunned bark of laughter immediately deflates as he catches the look of daggers she’s throwing at him. He vaguely remembers the concept coming up during a friday night of drinking, but assumed it had been vetoed for something a little more public-friendly, “I thought that was a joke!”

“That’s her _main piece_, Alec. Nothing of this magnitude has been done before,” his sister goes on proudly, her watchful eyes returning to her girlfriend, “She’s had donation offers, and very important people are wanting to be here tonight to see it. She’s being called a _genius_.”

“For putting on a porn show?”

“It’s _ not _a porn show. It’s a visible connection building between two complete strangers during an act of love-making.”

“My bad. A _public_ porn show.”

Isabelle smacks him hard in the chest, “_You’re not helping!_ It’s not gratuitous porn for people to rub off to. No genitalia on display. Besides, some people like to try new experiences, _Alec._ I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

She plucks Clary’s spiced latte from the tray he holds and flounces off, leaving Alec her snide comments. It’s the right kind of jab to his ego, the barest hint of a challenge, enough to make him think about stepping up just to prove her wrong. Because she _is._

It's a tough one though. It'll be a year’s worth of Clary’s hard work, all down the drain in one night if she can’t find a replacement. Hours of Alec’s life spent listening to Isabelle vent her frustrations about her girlfriend working late or blowing off dates because impossible inspiration had struck. He knows it’s not just about Clary experiencing a career highlight, but his own sister getting to celebrate with her after long months of support and patience. He glances between Clary’s soggy, crestfallen, mascara-lined face and Isabelle as she sits on the floor beside her, hopelessly trying to comfort the woman she loves. His two favourite girls in the entire world, upset and listless. It pokes at the big, protective brother in him.

He glances toward the velvet chaise Clary has set up in the center of the room, and the circular curtain that hangs from the ceiling, raised ready to drop and encase it. Probably where she means to display her two embracing strangers. He sighs deeply, discards the cup tray in the nearby trash can and meanders over to the girls as he sips his coffee.

“How’re you holdin’ up, Fray?” he asks, not unkindly.

Clary gives him a grim, watery smile. About as good as can be expected, he guesses. She’s staring at the phone in her hand, sniffling as Isabelle strokes the hair off her wet face, “I should call Magnus and cancel.”

“We’ve got an hour before we really need to pull the plug,” Isabelle offers gently, “Maybe call your agent again. She might have found someone.”

But Clary’s face crumples again, a fresh wave of tears brimming, “Right now I don’t even care. I don't want to do it anymore. It was _stupid_. Just...throw my whole life in the toilet.”

Her misery hits Alec where it hurts the most, and paired with Isabelle’s increasing dismay, he feels an overwhelming urge to take the situation and fix it for them like he usually knows how. But knowing his way around a toolkit, or going on a drink run, or making phone calls, or providing brotherly hugs isn’t going to help this time. Not when this requires someone to willingly have sex with a stranger. _ In public._

“So who’s this Magnus guy?”

Clary’s head pops up glumly from her phone screen, and she sniffles again, wiping at her wet cheeks, “Magnus? He’s---he's really lovely.”

Isabelle fills in the rest. Rather pointedly, “And hot. Charming. Very flirty and fun. Did I mention _hot?"_

Alec holds his breath. Sex with a stranger is nothing he hasn’t done before. But sex with a stranger in _ public? _ If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s had enough hook ups in nightclubs to definitely blur that line too, at least enough that he wouldn’t know whether or not to check it off his bucket-list. And Isabelle had said no dicks on display. _ But still._

Would he really offer himself up? He takes another look at Clary’s devastated face and the challenge on his sister’s. A positively lethal combination, designed to snap his resolve like a twig. He doesn’t really stand a chance. So it’s with great trepidation that he takes a blind leap of faith toward commitment.

He points at his sister, _ vehemently,_ “_If _ I do this, you’re not allowed to watch.”

“Aha!” Isabelle’s face lights up, quick like a lamp, lips stretching into a wide, disbelieving grin.

Clary looks between the two of them in tired, weepy confusion, but then Isabelle’s giddiness and Alec’s rolling eyes tip her off to what’s being put on the table, and she scrambles up onto her knees before him, clearly ready to beg, “_Really? _ You’d do it?”

“Just sex with a stranger, right? And no dicks flopping around for people to see?”

“No,” Clary whips the tears off her face, “None. No dicks. I mean yeah, dicks. But hidden dicks.”

“Would I at least get to meet him before I fuck him?”

Clary winces, “Ideally...no. The whole point is that you don’t. At least not until you’re...well, when you’re---”

Alec almost laughs at her apparent inability to say it, “_Fucking _ him?”

She huffs, exhausted and glaring. The girl has had her strings pulled a little too hard today.

“It’s not about two naked people _ fucking_,” she explains, “It’s about two strangers baring themselves to the unknown in a moment of intimacy. Building a connection within vulnerability. The art piece itself - what I’m _ trying _to display for the public - is what you and Magnus would feel in the moment.”

Something squirms unpleasantly in his stomach; that old fight or flight reflex he has whenever he hitches too close to _ feelings_. There’s a reason he steers clear of anything beyond a casual hook up, reasons he doesn’t care to analyze. Which makes the possibility of facing them more than a little scary.

He senses that _ she _ senses he’s beginning to pull back, and he powers on through out of pure male bravado. He can fuck a guy and put on a show. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. He just has to make Clary look good. Which shouldn't be difficult, because he's been dragged to enough exhibitions now to understand that Brooklyn's art crowd have the ability to find the meaning of life in an old tin can. He’s literally seen that discussion take place with his own eyes. _ He'll be fine_.

“Do you have a photo, at least?”

Clary immediately rips back into her phone with gusto, swiping through her camera roll for what he assumes is a photo of the man he’ll be having public sex with. She practically tosses it at him when she finds what she’s looking for, and he watches her clasp Isabelle’s hand in anticipation of his final answer.

He looks at the man taking up space on Clary’s phone screen. _ Whoa_, is the thought that immediately comes to mind. This Magnus guy is more than a little pleasant on the gaze. Beautiful, tawny skin. Thick, black hawkish hair with the sides shaven. Broad, muscular shoulders and a sculpted chest, with a strong, smooth jaw and soft set of smirking lips. The small, silver ends of a septum bar, barely noticeable in his nostrils. Warm, smiling eyes full of kindness, adventure; rimmed in black kohl. Definitely someone he wouldn’t say no to in a bar.

“Does he top or bottom?”

Clary blinks, shakes her head, “He said he was open to either.”

“Is he hung?”

She makes a turning gesture with her finger, “Swipe right.”

_That _makes him gawk.

“_Jesus_, Fray. You really took photos of his junk?” He swipes to the next image and sees what he assumes is Magnus’ flaccid penis, nestled below a manscaped thatch of dark pubic hair. Smooth trunk and testes. Good girth and above average length, enough to look like it could surprise him when erect. As far as dicks go, Magnus' penis makes lovely look basic.

“I have a whole folder of information on him,” Clary defends herself, “Likes, dislikes, measurements, the results of his last STD screen. It’s actually not easy pairing strangers up for the kind of live sex you want to display in an art gallery.” She throws her hands up. “_Just so you know_.”

"You have all of this information on him but none on me, and you’re just...gonna throw us together?” he inquires, half outraged on Magnus’ behalf. Absolutely terrified for himself. The thought of his sister’s girlfriend carrying around photos of his dick is an awkward one, and he doesn’t need that sort of thing popping back up to haunt him over Friday night drinks. 

He’s also never been in a position for such judgement before. It’s not that he isn’t confident in what he’s packing, but now he immediately feels guilty for being the kind of animal to objectify all the mouth watering proportions of Magnus’ body without a second thought.

"We don't exactly have the luxury of time here," Clary sighs like he’s being difficult, “All I really need to know is that you're clean and willing.”

“_Yes_,” he blurts, almost offended that she’s even asking, “I got tested a couple of months ago. And I don’t swim without a suit.”

"And yes, you're willing? Because if you're not, I need to start calling people."

Alec turns Clary’s phone on its side to see the full expanded view of Magnus’ penis, uncontrollably curious, and Isabelle snorts at him from behind her fist.

“Does he pass your scrutiny, big brother?”

When he glances up from the screen, he sees his sister’s mischievous grin and Clary’s hopeful waiting of an answer. He shrugs, dutifully ignoring the stirrings of his own deeper interest in the guy, and hands the phone back, “He’ll do.”

An excited _ squeal _ erupts from Clary’s tiny frame as she leaps to her feet and launches herself into his arms. More tears break free, but in happier, more ecstatic ways. _ Those _ he can handle, “Thank you, Alec. Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he smiles, because despite everything, he's quietly pleased to be the hero. He wraps his free arm around her and falls into the tempo of her excited bodily swaying, “Don’t ever say I never did anything for you.”

He winks at Isabelle where she remains seated on the floor, and she presses both hands to her chest and mouths a grateful, heartfelt _ I love you _ that floods him with powerful, brotherly pride. And he tries to focus on that feeling for as long as he can; else he lose his nerve altogether.

With a plan in place and just over an hour until showtime, Alec and Isabelle make a run to Clary and Isabelle’s apartment for last minute things. He’d showered before his appearance at the gallery, but his nervousness has him giving himself a quick once over in the bathroom. He checks his pubic hair, the trail of his last wax, the stubble on his jaw and whether or not it’s going to rub Magnus’ face raw. Which then has him wondering if Magnus is a big kisser, or simply the business type without all the flourishes like Alec can be. When he's done pondering, he pulls the black tunnels from his stretched earlobes to check for any funky smells, and ends up giving them a quick soap just to be sure.

Isabelle makes a final phone call to Clary to check for anything else she might need to bring, and then they catch a cab back to the gallery. It’s when she asks him if they need to stop for condoms that his nervousness completely eclipses his newfound zen. He’s got a couple in his wallet, and Clary had said she’d asked Magnus to bring his own too, so that there's no issues. But he’s about to have sex with someone he’s never met before, in a public place for public consumption. And they won’t be the roarous, screaming, sex show type of audience. They’ll be the upper New York elite - the snooty Brooklyn art community. He takes comfort in knowing that whatever it is they interpret from the spectacle he and Magnus are going to create, it'll be too abstract to really be about them.

By the time they arrive back, the day’s sun has disappeared and the gallery’s lights are spilling out onto the street, inviting the beginnings of an audience inside. Clary runs him through his part to play, and it’s terrifyingly quick - in half an hour, once the gallery is in full swing and her speech is over with, he and Magnus will be having sex. He'd been playing it cool with the nervousness before, but now that the countdown has begun, his nerves and insecurities have joined forces to obsess over every possible question he can think of.

He takes a breath in and slowly lets it out, “What kind of sex am I meant to be having?”

“Your usual run-of-the-mill. Nothing strenuous, nothing kinky," she says, "No crazy acrobatics."

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes you.”

"Do I need to come?” he asks, lips pursed. The question sounds just as ridiculous out loud as it does in his head, though that's the least of his worries. Right now he's not even sure he'll manage to get it up.

“Only if you want to,” she nods, “You and Magnus just have to have sex with each other. That’s really all there is to it.”

He huffs a weak laugh, “You say that like it’s so easy.”

“It is! It is!” She laughs and rubs his arm supportively, “It’s just the two of you. All you have to do is concentrate on him. No one else exists. I’ll help get you sorted. Then the curtain will come up, you’ll have the sex. And when you’re finished, the curtain will come down and you can get dressed.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, Alec. I promise.”

“And when do I get to meet him?”

“Hopefully, once I take the blindfolds off,” she says, pulling a couple of thick sashes of black silk from the tote bag hanging from her arm.

“And he doesn't know he’s getting me in this deal?”

Clary shakes her head, “Nope."

There it is again. That slick, squirmy rolling in his belly.

"Look. Listen," she explains carefully; kindly, "Magnus has his own reasons for taking part. He’s not interested in knowing who I pair him with. He wanted the challenge. I know you're nervous, and I know you're uncomfortable and you're just...pushing through in order to do me a favor and I really, really love you for it. But if you don't want to do this...it's _ okay_.”

"Your entire exhibition hedges on me getting my dick wet, and you're telling me you'd be fine if I drop out?"

He's always known her to be an awful liar, so she barely bothers doing it. That's why he believes both the little tick of disappointment that threatens to turn down her mouth, and the bright smile she offers. Genuine, despite its grim edges. She'd be devastated, but she certainly wouldn't hold him responsible. And she'd never ask him to do something he didn't want to.

"Yes," she tells him, sincerely, "If that's what you want, then let's do that. Really, it's okay."

He sits with that for several moments. Despite offering to step in, he hasn't felt like he had a choice in the matter. Which sounds ridiculous, but not when he’d been up against the familiar pleading look in his sister’s eyes, sharpened over the years with regular use. Or being confronted with Clary's crumpled, teary face. Except now he feels like he _does _ have the option of backing out, one that won't leave him guilty for taking it. And that immediately helps soften his need to dig his heels in out of self preservation.

Clary and Isabelle and a gallery of art lovers aside - is he willing? He thinks of Magnus' smiling eyes and gorgeous body, and tries to imagine what sex with him might be like. He’s interested in finding out, undeniably so. If he was meeting Magnus in a bar, there’d be no hesitation whatsoever. But instead, he has the option of meeting him _here,_ in an art gallery, without all the will-they-won’t-they lead up. Which means he gets to have sex with an attractive man without exhausting himself on making an effort.

Fuck yeah. He’s in.

He slugs back his entire flute of wine in one gulp and plonks the glass down into Clary’s empty hand, “We’re good. Let’s do this.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

“Are you absolutely sure---”

“Are you _ really _gonna start talking me out of it, Fray?”

“_Okay_. Good,” she sighs like she hasn’t breathed all afternoon, and he’s reminded that she’s more worried about this evening than he could ever be. It’s her career on the line here, not his dick, “Hey, please try to enjoy the experience? Magnus is a great guy. This has actually worked out for the best because I think you two will be amazing together.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll try. Just make sure Isabelle isn’t watching.”

“She’ll be out of the room, I promise,” Clary nods, “Though she is kinda bummed out. We’ve been looking forward to this for months, and now she doesn’t get to see it come to life---”

“A sacrifice I am _more_ than willing to make,” Isabelle slides in against her side, plucking Alec’s empty glass from Clary’s fingers and passing it off to a server, just so she can commandeer her girlfriend for a bit of handholding, “Though Magnus. _ Ooof_. He’s a _ whole _art piece.” She flashes Alec a grin, “Do try to keep yourself together, big brother.”

He shrugs, “I’m not that into art.”

“Oh, but _ you will be_,” Isabelle sing-songs gleefully, laughing to herself like she knows something he doesn’t, and Clary chuckles as she’s tugged away to meet people.

He spends the next ten minutes wandering the gallery with another glass of wine, trying to center himself. Which doesn’t really work with the growing crowd of art lovers milling about around him. There are a lot of people here, way more than he’d paid any mind to. And now they’re all he can think about, with their dresses and suits and the way they waltz pretentiously between artworks. He starts lowkey fanning his t-shirt at his belly, trying to give his body some air because it’s suddenly very, _ very _hot under the gallery lights, and he makes his way to nabb another glass of wine when Isabelle strikes out of nowhere, snatching him by the elbow so hard he almost squeaks.

“What? _ What?_”

“Magnus is here,” she hisses, dragging him through the gallery toward the concealed chaise. She holds the curtain up for him to dip beneath, then unceremoniously shoves him inside, maneuvering him until his back is turned and his nose is pressed to the black drape, “Clary will be in soon to walk you through.”

“Shit,” he thinks, heart beating wildly. Then he realizes he’s speaking out loud, “_Shit_.”

“Don’t be nervous! You’re gonna do great!” Isabelle jumps to kiss him on the cheek, “Good luck! Enjoy him! Enjoy yourself!”

He swats her away until she disappears again, and then he’s trying valiantly to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Shit. Shit. _ Shit_. Why did he agree to this again?

“He’s hot,” Alec murmurs to himself, taking another lungful of air in, and out, “He’s hot. _ He’s hot he’s hot he’s hot_. Jesus fuck.”

Soon enough, he hears Clary arrive in the space behind him, “Alec? You okay?”

“Yep,” he takes in another breath, deep and loud, jaw clenched, “Fuckin’ peachy.”

“Just stay facing the curtain. I’ll be around to see you in a sec.”

He exhales pitifully. Is that _ him _ wheezing? “_Sure_. _ Yep_.”

Several minutes pass before he hears another series of movements - Clary’s welcoming voice and a light, soft laughter he doesn’t recognize as she attempts to get someone situated. _ Magnus_. He holds his breath and strains to catch everything he can of Magnus’ voice, and his heart starts thudding at how warm it sounds, how lovely it feels on the ears. He sounds amused and deeply relaxed - the complete opposite of everything Alec currently is - even as Clary tells him to undress without turning around. After a few moments, it appears that Magnus is naked and blindfolded, and Clary gets him seated on the chaise before covering him with the folded sheet Alec had briefly spotted on his way in.

Then she's suddenly in front of him. He just about leaps out of his skin, “Hi. Doing okay?”

“_Jesus_, wear a bell or something---!”

“Ready to get undressed?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he starts in with his jacket, sliding it from his shoulders. 

He undresses like he’s ripping off bandaids, grumbling until Clary averts her eyes, and then he’s kicking the rest of his clothing into a pile beside him. He takes another breath. He hasn’t died of embarrassment yet, which is neat. _ He can do this. _

When Clary is done stuffing his things into a paper bag, she claps her hands, “Right. _ So_. Would you like me to flip a coin? Heads tops, tails bottoms?”

“I don’t mind being topped,” Magnus murmurs, and Alec’s skin grows hot at the thought. Magnus sounds so pleasantly alluring, smooth like twice distilled whiskey and silk sheets. Alec’s already half hard just listening to his voice.

“I don’t mind topping,” he answers, and that elicits a chuckle behind him. 

“Okay then. Easy,“ Clary presses into Alec’s hand the foil package of the condom he’d given her earlier, “Suit up.” Then she’s giving something to Magnus, “Lube up.”

She wanders to the side to give them both privacy, and Alec waits until she’s chatting casually with Magnus before he starts stroking himself. He thinks of the handsome man he’d seen on her phone earlier - his adonis-like body and smooth skin, imagines how it might feel against him - and he tries to coax himself fully erect. His nervousness ensures it takes much longer than he’s proud of, but he gets there in the end. Hard enough to wear the condom at least. Small victories.

Then he’s leaning down for Clary to blindfold him while he attempts to obscure his cock from her sight. When she’s done - and he can’t see - she carefully guides him to sit on the chaise and provides him with the other end of the sheet to cover himself with. Now that he’s beside Magnus, he can smell the light, fresh scents of shower gel and aftershave, something tropical and expensive that lures his nose in. He refrains from sniffing the air like a curious pooch, mostly because Clary will probably never let him live it down.

“I gotta go make a speech now,” she announces, “Alec, get in position. I’ll be back in a bit to get you sorted. Cool?”

“Sure thing, biscuit,” Magnus answers, and Alec’s cheeks flush. _ Shit_. This is really happening.

Clary disappears, and then it’s just the two of them, sitting naked, alone and blindfolded. Expected to position themselves for the sex they’ll be having. The sex they’ll be having in front of an _ audience_.

The inevitable awkward silence fills the air, and boy, it does _ not _ disappoint.

“_So_," Magnus claps his hands together, trying for enthusiasm, "I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

Alec can hear the smile shaping his words and instantly feels a little less stressed by the entire thing. Which is good. He could do with some of that right about now.

“I’m Magnus.”

He chuckles out of pure, crippling anxiety, testing his eyesight against the blindfold. Nothing but black, “I’m Alec.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alec. Wanna try for a handshake?”

“Uh, sure.”

He has no clue where to reach, and it’s obvious Magnus doesn’t know either. Which makes them both huff with laughter when their hands bump, knuckles to palm. Magnus latches onto his fingers with a triumphant _ there we go, _and they manage to wrangle something resembling a handshake between themselves. Enough to feel accomplished at the very least.

He feels Magnus’ hand drift onto his arm, then his other hand grappling at his chest, fingers searching for his shoulder, and with some instruction and a few near misses, they feel their way into position on the chaise. Alec follows the lines of Magnus’ legs with his palms while he moves to straddle the seat, touching kneecaps, calves, until he gets Magnus’ legs around his hips. He shimmies inward and keeps his hands on Magnus’ thighs, just to remember where he is. He really doesn’t need a knee to the jewels on top of everything else.

They take a breather once they’re more or less in place.

“Are we waiting for her to put your dick in me or…?”

“God I hope not,” Alec groans, “She's dating my sister. I’d rather _ not _ have that be a talking point between them.”

Magnus laughs quietly, and Alec now feels as it travels through his body, “Then do you want me to---”

“Yeah, probably best for you to---”

Magnus’ hand bangs against his collar, then down his chest, “There you are. Okay. I’m going to touch you now.”

Alec breathes, stomach hollowing in anticipation, “Okay.”

Magnus’ hand moves carefully; almost too carefully, until it feels like he’s using the moment to carve a mental picture of what Alec looks like. His knuckles brush down his sternum, along the line of body hair trailing between his abdominals, fingertips stretching along his flat belly, the grooves of his hip bones. Then _ down, down, down, _ onto the root of his cock, tracing the condom’s rubber ring stretched around him. Then finally, he’s holding Alec’s dick. Alec can barely breathe at all now.

He’d been struggling to remain hard, but his cock thrives to Magnus’ touch, hardening further beneath his exploration. Magnus makes a pleased sound as he feels along his length, something approving, halfway between a moan and a chuckle that has Alec’s shoulders unbunching. He gently pulls him closer, until Alec has to shift along the chaise to keep up, and then Magnus is pushing Alec’s cock along the slick, plush crease of his ass.

“Christ, I’m gonna need more lube.”

Alec snorts in surprise; proud and amused as he struggles to keep himself quiet. He can hear the gallery’s attentive silence and the echo of Clary’s voice through the microphone in the next room over, and Magnus shifts below him, rolling partially onto his side. There’s the squeak-pop of a plastic cap, then a squirt - the lube - before Magnus is recapping the bottle.

Alec jolts at Magnus’ touch, then he’s trying not to groan at the slide of his lubed fingers massaging his length. The blindfolds are already working some sensory mojo, because every stroke Magnus makes has the muscles in Alec’s thighs ticking. He misses Magnus’ hand the second it’s gone, but anticipates another sweep when he hears a second squirt from the bottle. Except this time it doesn’t come, and he quickly realizes - dry-mouthed - that Magnus is applying more to himself. He opens his eyes on instinct, but the blindfold is still on. Pitch black.

He hears a hitch of breath, the faint grumble of a low moan, and Alec squeezes the cushioned seat beneath him out of frustration. Well, at least he’s not nervous anymore.

“Okay,” Magnus sighs, “Here we go. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus takes him in hand again and lines him up, then begins to feed the head of Alec’s cock inside of himself. Alec blows a hoarse breath through his lips, because it’s _ tight_, and an incredibly amplified sensation without the usual visuals distracting him. Magnus talks him through the whole thing to ensure Alec is comfortable, while Alec waits patiently for prompts to follow. When he’s fully seated in Magnus’ body, he takes a few seconds to adjust - has to bite his own lip as Magnus adjusts beneath him - and then he’s searching blindly for the sheet to cover them up.

Clary pops back in, which means it’s show time. Alec and his nervousness revert right back to square one. “Doing okay, guys?”

Thankfully Magnus speaks for him, because he’s struggling to find the words. _ Any _ words. “Yes, we’re ready.”

“I’m just gonna adjust the sheet around you so it doesn’t fall down, alright?”

Clary works quickly and quietly, bunching the sheet around their hips like a figure eight, concealing any dicks or butt cracks before she’s tucking the other end of the sheet beneath Magnus’ body, fluffing it into place.

“Okay, guys! Keep your eyes closed. I’ll just remove these blindfolds, and then I’m going to step out and have the curtain lifted,” she says, tapping an encouragement on Alec’s naked shoulder. He bats her away, “_Alright, _ alright. You can open your eyes and begin when you hear the curtain. Everybody clear?”

Magnus shifts again below him, hands crawling onto Alec’s arms, “I think we got it. Alec?”

He mumbles an agreement, torn between his awareness of the people gathered beyond the curtain and the glorious heat of Magnus’ body.

“Remember to have fun. Be yourselves. Focus on each other," Alec can almost hear her pumping her fist into the air, "Get those orgasms!”

Alec just about reaches out to smack her again, hisses, “_We’ve got it, Fray.” _

“_Okay__!_ Good luck!” She plucks their blindfolds off, fixes Alec’s hair with a few pinches, then scampers off.

He hears Magnus ask, “You good?”

He shivers against the cooler gallery air, and does his best to ignore the many people chatting quietly on the other side of the curtain, “Yeah, ‘m good.”

Then the curtain is rising above them. It takes a few seconds, the unbearable stretch of automatic pulleys whirring. And then it stops.

The room drops into silence.

Alec peels his eyes open and has to take a moment to adjust to the bright, beaming light falling from above them, framing the chaise they’re curled together on. The gallery beyond their illuminated circle is a weighted darkness, full of curious gazes and muted presence. The tickle of unseen eyes on his skin is uncomfortable, enough to make his heartbeat rise another notch. But then he feels the warmth of fingers sliding into his hair, and he turns to look below him. And there’s Magnus, with his handsome face. His first thought is that the photos did not do him justice. _ At all. _ His second thought gets completely lost as Magnus’ lips spread into an appreciative smile.

“_Wow_,” Magnus whispers, softer than soft. His smile grows wider, “Hi.”

The heat of a blush begins to crawl across Alec’s face - unexpectedly so - and he finds himself whispering back just as quietly. For Magnus’ ears only, “Hi.”

He _ feels _more than hears a curiosity vibrating through the gallery crowd around them, watching from the shadows. It pulls his attention away again to where he sees the vague outlines of a couple of people standing too close to the light. A pair of hands with manicured nails clutching a purse. The light reflecting from a pair of men’s dress shoes. Neon green socks with black crossbones, peeking from behind loose-laced combat boots. It brings him crash-landing back to reality - that he’s balls deep inside the body of a stranger, in an entire room full of strangers.

Magnus’ thumb finds his jaw, pressing and easing him back to focus on him. Alec watches as he mouths the word again, just for him - _ Hi _ \- and...his stomach flutters, caught and disarmed. Magnus is taking in the shape of his features, openly and appraisingly, smiling and smiling and _ smiling _as his eyes get their fill. Pleased at what he sees staring back at him. Welcoming in a way Alec hadn't expected to be welcomed. Magnus pauses on the sight of his lips, glances up in question. Fingers pressing at the back of his head. A kiss. He wants a kiss.

So Alec leans down, braces an elbow against the velvet cushions. Magnus sighs as their bodies draw closer, shifting angles, his thighs squeezing at Alec’s flanks. Alec looks for permission, receives it in the firm, encouraging hand on his nape. And then he kisses him. Briefly. Long enough for a taste, not long enough to intrude. When he opens his eyes again, he sees the teasings of a smirk on Magnus’ lips. A challenge. An _ oh, is that how it’s gonna be? _

_ Kiss me, _ Magnus mouths.

_ No_, he mouths back, on a whim. Magnus’ eyes crinkle at the corners, _ delighted_. Impossibly, Alec realizes he’s smiling back.

_ Go on_, Magnus tries again, his tongue tucking behind his upper right canine tooth. Cute. He’s fucking cute. He’s sexy and model-handsome and looks like he could fuck Alec into next week. But Alec hadn’t expected _ cute_.

He shakes his head at him, purely because of how funny Magnus seems to find his refusal. Clearly calling his bluff. It makes Alec want to hold out even more.

Perhaps Magnus reads it in him, because he changes tactics. Locking his ankles together, tightening his thighs, pulling him in until Alec is reminded _ oh yeah_, he’s inside him. Playing dirty, if Magnus’ smug face is any indication. Alec’s hand goes to the knee braced high on his ribs, holds it there long enough for Magnus to wonder what’s next. There, he delivers his first full thrust. Slow, languid. Not enough to have him moaning in ecstasy, but merely to drive him a little crazy with the promise.

Magnus tugs him close, straining up toward his lips, and Alec’s eyes sink closed as the pleasure of the fingers in his hair starts a chain reaction down his spine. He thrusts again, this time wildly, _ reactionary_, and Magnus gasps against his jaw, curling beneath the force of his hips. It feels so good that he pulls out halfway, then sinks back in before he can remind himself he’s supposed to be teasing him. Magnus’ eyes are twinkly mischievously when he peers into them, and he bravely ignores the next tease of fingers through his hair like his pride is on the line.

Magnus _ laughs _at him - a gust of breath followed by happy, sexy rumbling, low in his throat. A rush of warmth fills Alec’s chest, tripping him out of nowhere.

_ Kiss me_, Magnus mouths again, though Alec can barely read his lips through the brightness of his grin.

So Alec does, even quicker than the last, and Magnus makes a little noise of protest. He’s so responsive that Alec has to restrain himself from immediately doing it again, because he’d like nothing more than to pull the full catalogue of noises from him and pick which one he enjoys best. Instead, he moves onto other things, like skimming the blunt edges of his fingernails along the back of Magnus’ thigh. He feels the reflexive jolt in Magnus’ hips, humps against it. Drags his fingertips along the fine hairs dusting his skin until Magnus leg kicks in his grip. Magnus grins against his mouth like he’s been caught, teeth playful on his lip. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered either, which has Alec grinning too. Cute _ and _ ticklish_. _

Magnus’ squirming drives the mindless meeting of their hips, because the heated clutch of his softly gyrating body feels too good on Alec’s dick to deny. He draws deep, steady breaths as he observes the shift in Magnus’ expression, the way his eyes are a constant smile, marvelling openly as they gaze back at him. The way he takes him all in, as if to paint his picture. The way his eyelids slide half closed when Alec pumps inside, like he’s fighting off his own pleasure even as he falls helplessly beneath it. He likes the way Magnus says so many lovely things without words, even if he's not sure what he did to deserve them. And he feels that rush again, that pleasurable warmth wrapped up in an urgent need. A need to please him.

Magnus’ fingers trace the lines of Alec’s shoulders, thumbs fitting into grooves of muscle, then down his arms, featherlight and unhurried. He touches and maps and caresses with his whole hands - knuckles, palms, the backs of his wrists - tentatively learning the shape of Alec's body, where it responds, how Alec feels on his own skin. And Alec fucks him leisurely, letting him get acquainted. Too entranced by this man’s quiet enjoyment of him to do much else but rut softly.

_ You feel good_, Magnus mouths now, dreamily, and Alec experiences that rush again. Affection. _ Feelings_.

Something hidden in him revolts against it, tired and half-hearted and drowsy. _ What are you doing_, it murmurs in warning. _ Get away from those_.

He sits up, putting distance between them. His sudden reluctance must be written on his face, because Magnus grows tentative, hands falling onto Alec's thighs where they straddle the chaise. He rolls his hips against him, encouraging Alec deeper on the slide in, and Alec can't see where their bodies connect but he feels it right down to his toes. He thrusts in with a little more force, just to have something else to focus on, and Magnus unfurls sinuously beneath him, hands moving to grip the seat above his head. He watches from behind heavy lids. Watches Alec fuck him with that same look in his eyes; the look that smiles and marvels and invites him in, even though Alec’s not sure what he did to earn it.

Magnus’ body moves _ with _ him, muscles contracting and shifting beneath miles of beautiful, bronze skin. Alec has barely touched him so far, but now his palms almost itch with the desire to be filled with him.

Magnus must catch that too, because he mouths the words. _ Touch me. _

He swallows, hard.

_ A-lec_, Magnus forms the word silently, tongue touching soft to the back of his front teeth. Tantalizing and purposeful. It undoes Alec in a way he hadn’t prepared for - his own name, spoken privately for pleasure’s sake - and Magnus grins again, knowing what he’s caused. _ Touch me. _

So he does, though he’s not sure he remembers how, at least not in the way Magnus wants him to. He glances down at where his hands lie spread on Magnus’ waist, and he lets them travel upward over the crevices of his abs, into the muscled grooves of his ribs. Magnus hands come down to encourage them toward his nipples, and they pause there together to circle Alec’s fingers over their peaks, eyes locked. Magnus breathes a pleased, shivery sigh, and Alec watches his face as he dabs the rough pads of his thumbs ever so lightly, plucking at him like a bow string. Magnus shudders through the shoulders in response, grinning at how good it feels. At how good _ Alec _is making him feel.

Alec leans over to settle his elbows back on the cushion, and he pairs the soft tweaks of his thumbs with the thrusting of his hips. To his delight, Magnus shivers again, right through the center of his body - shoulders, belly, hips rolling in a wave, bringing them closer and Alec as deep as he can go. Magnus grips Alec’s shoulders and spurs him on with his heels, lying back against the velvet seat, drowsy with pleasure, humming quietly to himself as he meets the new rhythm of Alec’s quickening pace.

“_Fuck_,” he hisses between his teeth, for Alec’s ears only. Like it’s a secret. As if this moment they’re sharing is for no one else but them. And Alec _ likes _ that, likes how it feels. _ Him and I. Me and him. _ Magnus' lips stretch into another gorgeous smile, and Alec longs to kiss them. He forgets why he’s even still holding back.

They fuck each other there on the chaise, tangled in a sheet meant to give them privacy, and Alec can’t remember why they need it. He doesn’t think about the people watching from the shadows. He doesn’t hear the barely-there whispers of curiosity, or appreciation or clinical interpretation. He just sees Magnus beneath him, as wondrous as he is wonderful. Warm and inviting and glad to be with him - this man who has carved a happy little world for Alec to exist in, with nothing but his smile.

It's intimate. _ Way _ too intimate for Alec's comfort. But the lively expanse of Magnus’ writhing body makes the home stretch look too good, and the pleasure building in him is too far along to quit. He feels hot and exposed inside, stretched thin in the scary collision of arousal and affection for a man he’s just met. This _ stranger, _who hasn’t judged him or pushed him; who has taken him in all his nervousness, wariness and reluctance and made it feel okay.

He looks down at Magnus now - and while his mouth doesn’t say the words, his eyes speak them loud and clear. _ If you're going to run - run with me. _

Alec finds purchase on the velvet chaise, caging Magnus in. And he thrusts harder, _ harder_, hard enough that the gallery audience almost _ jumps _at the sound of the wooden seat frame grinding beneath their combined momentum. Magnus slides an arm up around him, fingers playing in his hair. Encouraging. Soothing. His other hand squeezes between them, navigating through the sheet to his own cock, and Alec moans, shifts his weight to one elbow so he can reach to help. They work together, fucking and stroking, gazing into each other’s eyes, unwaveringly. Alec’s usual instinct is to look away, but with Magnus he’s magnetized. Desperate, even. He wants to see what his eyes have to say.

Magnus gasps, squeezes them shut momentarily. Then he’s back, nodding shakily, body tightening all over. He’s about to orgasm in a room full of people, right here in the arms of a stranger - and Alec is startled at his willingness to be vulnerable, staring in silent awe as Magnus gives himself over completely. To _ him_. Alec returns his hand to the chaise and fucks through the rhythmic pulsing around his cock, and he watches Magnus brandish his pleasure out loud, eagerly running to join him. Unafraid because _ Magnus _makes him not afraid.

They both moan and pant loudly, unashamedly. Magnus’ hand is tight in Alec’s hair, and he lets Alec see him come undone like he’s the only one in the room, like his pleasure is theirs to share. Alec strains toward him, hungry for all the little facets of Magnus’ face. The bits that say _ Kiss Me _ and _ A-lec _ and _ Hi. _ And he thinks _ Fuck It _ as he dives down for Magnus’ mouth. He kisses him deeply, working his way in between wild grabs for air. He kisses Magnus until he’s coming inside of him, joyously hurtling apart in the cradle of Magnus’ welcoming body. He kisses Magnus so forcefully that Magnus has to hold on tight, arms and hands wrapped around his back. He kisses Magnus so completely that new murmurs jitter throughout the gallery crowd. Alec only half-hears, momentarily distracted. But it’s enough to get the idea. Magnus’ semen-covered hand on Alec’s spine seems to be causing quite the stir.

Alec laughs breathlessly against Magnus’ mouth, surprised and full of euphoria. What a moment to remember he’s naked in front of an audience.

And Magnus holds him close, kissing him back. Desirous and deliriously happy. The satisfaction in the upward curve of Magnus’ lips is Alec’s brand new badge of honor and he houses an entire world in his eyes for Alec to see, which makes him want things he told himself he didn’t want. _ Put on a show_, he’d reasoned. _ Do it for Clary_.

Except now, he’s looking at this handsome, lovely stranger smiling up at him. The one gently combing the hair out of Alec’s face. The one brushing his lips teasingly across Alec’s mouth, trying to coax him into another kiss because he can’t seem to get enough. The one who seems perfectly content to be with him, even now that it’s all over. And Alec isn't ready to let him go.

The curtain comes down around them, and the room erupts into boisterous, eager chatter. Not that Alec can hear it. Because Magnus’ smile grows impossibly soft, and Alec’s ribs feels like they're going to break open. Magnus somehow understands this, because he gathers him close. And Alec Doesn’t-Catch-Feelings-_Ever_ Lightwood lets himself be tucked in against Magnus’ neck, because he’s _just_ _not ready to let him go._

They lie there together, simply catching their breath. Magnus' chest is warm and smooth, rising and falling gently in a way that could lull Alec to sleep if he’s not careful. Every little touch Magnus makes across his back draws Alec in, makes him snuggle down deeper. His tough-guy walls have been felled, lost somewhere between Magnus’ orgasm and their phenomenal kiss, and he’s going to need a moment to build them back up. He should be mad about it, because the guy he was twenty minutes ago wasn’t a snuggler. That guy did what he needed to do, and left with his chin held high and his pride intact. _ This _ guy? He wants to snuggle. He wants to call Clary, get her to empty the entire building and lock it down for the night, so he can _ keep _snuggling. 

_ What the fuck happened. _

They both get a fright when the paper bags containing their clothes are shoved beneath the curtains, sliding across the floor toward them. Clary, or Isabelle, is smart enough not to follow them inside.

Magnus heaves a despondent sigh, "Guess that's our cue."

Alec doesn’t want to lift his head. _ He’s not ready, dammit_, “Guess so.”

Another moment passes, and neither of them move.

Magnus then shifts beneath him - and it really says something about how out of sorts he is, because Alec’s immediately reminded that his dick is still very much in Magnus’ ass, "Um, so you're still---"

"_God---_” He quickly draws himself up and reaches down to ease himself out of Magnus’ body, “I’m so sorry---" 

Magnus graciously brushes it off while he handles the situation, and the battle he has with the twisted pretzel of a sheet tucked around their hips helps ease the mood, enough that he joins in when Magnus starts giggling. Once they’re finally free, they move apart to get dressed.

Magnus spots a pack of wet wipes Clary has so thoughtfully added to the top of his clothes bag, and he wipes Alec’s back down with an unabashed grin, then asks him to turn away while he gets cleaned up.

"This is the part that gets unsexy,” he waves the packet of wipes, “and I'd like you to at least pretend I'm sexy for just a bit longer---"

"Of course. No, that's fine,” Alec manages a smile, just before he stands to pull his boxers and pants over his hips in one quick yank, “And I---for the record, you are---_ y'know _…"

“Sexy?”

Magnus - who sits butt naked, his bundle of clothes in his lap, tapping a packet of wet wipes to his chin thoughtfully - is definitely one of the best things Alec has seen in recent history. 

"Yes," Alec breathes, embarrassed by his sudden honest confession. Magnus takes one look at his own state of undress and laughs good naturedly, which plants a smile on Alec’s face, "Very much so."

He turns away to buckle his belt and pull on his Chuck Taylors, kneels down to take his time with the laces so Magnus doesn't have to rush. When they seem to be in the all clear, he catches Magnus checking him out as he’s pulling his t-shirt over his head. That’s usually a good sign, but with the way everything has happened out of order, Alec’s not really sure what comes next.

Goodbye? Thanks for having me? He doesn’t want it to end that way.

Tidy, dressed, and with wallets and phones safely tucked in their pockets, there’s nothing left to prolong the inevitable.

Alec makes an aborted attempt to say something, but then thinks it’s probably best to leave it as is. There are no guarantees here, and he’s not brave enough to test it. That hidden something inside pats him on the back for a job well done. _ Let it be, _ it says. _ Onto the next big thing. _ Except. This man. _ Magnus_.

He makes him want to try.

"Listen, I---"

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Magnus closes the gap and kisses him, hands warm and gentle on his neck. Then he’s bringing Alec's arms around himself until their bodies are flush, and Alec takes over to squeeze him tight, enjoying the way Magnus takes turns catching his lips between his own. Like they have all the time in the world. 

Magnus’ tongue in his mouth and his fingers petting through his hair and his strong, one-armed hug makes him nervous and excited and longing all at once in the most thrilling way. It should be terrifying. Any other time and with anybody else, it would be. But now, he feels like he’s splitting at the seams, about to spew _ sunshine_. Fifty feet tall in a six foot body. 

He hugs Magnus to him hard - just because he can - and Magnus moans, soft and pleased before he unlatches his lips from his. Alec beats him to a smile first, which makes Magnus’ smile that much brighter, thumb playfully sweeping back and forth in the hair behind his ear.

"Do you want to grab a glass of wine with me?” Magnus asks, scrunching his nose up adorably, as if he needs to persuade him into it. And _ oh lord_, he’s way too cute for Alec to handle, “Maybe see if they have any hors d'oeuvres left? We could...take a look around at all the art. I mean, when in Rome, right?"

Alec nods immediately, overwhelmingly relieved, "Yeah, sure."

"You a big art fan?"

"Yes,” Alec lies, but it’s totally for the honorable cause of getting more time with him, “_Huge_."

They half-shimmy toward the curtain, still clutching each other, trying not to trip over their own feet. Then they emerge from their cozy private world and back into harsh reality. Polite and professional. They turn heads in some of the people nearby, drawing appreciative nods and admiring smiles. Alec just about has a heart attack when he sees the sheer volume of gallery attendees. They had sex in front of _ that many? _

He tries to shield his face - for what futile reason, he doesn't know. A hundred people have just seen what he looks like when he comes. The damage is already done.

Magnus peers back over his shoulder at him, sees the meltdown he’s having and laughs. He reaches for his hand to tug him along, "What's the matter? Finally realizing what we’ve just done?"

"_Yes_," Alec hisses, beyond mortified, but he's enjoying the way Magnus holds his hand as they snake their way through the crowd toward the wine table. He's a little disappointed when he lets go.

"Here," Magnus hands him a wine flute and they both knock them back in one go, then grab seconds to take with them. They pass the food table, which looks like it's been mauled by a lactose-intolerant grizzly bear, so Magnus builds them each a couple of cheese crackers with what's left of the gourmet spreadables.

Alec pops a sundried tomato slice in his mouth, dips the next one into the well of basil pesto and folds it around a cube of feta. He makes another when Magnus asks - and ends up feeding it to him when he opens his mouth in silent demand, waiting with that same look in his eyes. Though now instead of _ kiss me_, it says _ feed me_. Alec's belly twists, arousal trumping habitual reluctance. It should make him run for the hills, this crazy intimacy that Magnus keeps inviting and Alec keeps following, like a dog on a leash. But it feels good. _ Scary_, but good.

Magnus groans aloud as he chews, eyes rolling back into his head, "_Muuuhhh_. So hungry."

With the way Alec’s stomach is currently grumbling to life around the food, hungry is an understatement. “Same.”

“I haven’t eaten all day,” Magnus sighs through his mouthful, “I was so nervous that I thought I was going to throw up.”

That piques Alec's interest from earlier. He knows his own reasons for stepping in, but beyond Clary’s vague blanket explanation, he doesn’t know much about Magnus’ choice to be involved.

It makes him curious enough to ask, “Well, I know how _ I _ ended up here. Why did you?”

Magnus smiles, though it’s strained and a little wistful, “I went through a pretty horrendous break up at the beginning of the year.”

Alec immediately regrets opening his mouth and apologizes, both for bringing it up and for whatever awful thing has put that sadness on Magnus’ face, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, y’know? It was for the best,” Magnus nods, and he doesn’t look upset anymore. Just accepting, “Anyway, I have this...tendency to shut down when things hurt. It’s just a lot easier to be the emotionally unavailable guy. You get all the fun perks without risking anything important. And at the end of the day, if they choose to walk, well...you don’t have to take that on.” Magnus smiles to himself, then lifts his eyes to Alec - and he looks as vulnerable as he’d been earlier, spread out on that chaise. “But that’s no way to live.”

Something heavy lowers itself onto Alec’s chest, something unpleasant and far too close to home. He’s got a lot to unpack from tonight’s experience, but he doesn’t need introspection to know what’s up. He hasn’t allowed himself to be this engaged, or this attracted to someone in a long time, for all sorts of reasons Alec isn’t ready to confront. But he finds himself agreeing quietly, because it feels like an important first step. And Magnus’ fearlessness is kind of contagious.

“So,” Magnus shrugs, pushing two broken saltine crackers together on the table top. Two cracked halves, making a new whole, “I heard about this gig. Thought it might push me out of my comfort zone. Unlock me, or something.”

"And did it?” Alec wonders aloud, “Unlock you?”

“Yet to be determined,” Magnus smiles again, secretive. He nudges an elbow gently into Alec’s side, throwing him a side glance that is as thankful as it is warm, “For what it’s worth? I’m really glad it was with you.”

He offers a smile back, quietly pleased. It catches Magnus' attention, until neither of them can look away.

"Me too."

It's big. It's an unexpected, unforeseen cosmic event in the narrow fortress of Alec Lightwood’s universe. And no one is there to witness it. No one but Magnus.

But that feels kind of perfect.

They spend the next hour drifting around the gallery, politely avoiding any patrons that appear eager to include them in their vapid dissections of their performance. They chat about lighter things, like jobs, travel, the oddities of Brooklyn's recent weather. And they take the tour of Clary's artwork, tilting their heads as they interpret what they see. Some of the pieces are vague; wide, leaping brushstrokes in vibrant, evocative colors, named after carnal emotions. Others are mixed mediums; layers of paint over large scale polaroids. Faceless, nameless people contorted in sensual repose. Magnus attempts to mimic them just to test how viable the poses are, and Alec finds himself charmed by his playfulness and the way he doesn’t take himself too seriously. One pose in particular has Magnus placing his empty glass on the nearby bench and dragging Alec in to help so he doesn’t fall flat on his back. The light buzz of wine and his desire to touch him again makes Alec a very willing assistant.

He checks his phone when Magnus goes in search of the bathroom, and he finds mile-long text chains from both Clary and Isabelle. Heartfelt declarations of undying gratitude for helping out, countered by shouty, emoji-riddled excitement for what is being perceived as a “date” with Magnus now that they’re free to roam. His thumb hovers over the screen, ready to protest their assumptions. But he spots Magnus returning to him and puts his phone away instead, enjoying the hand Magnus plants on his back. He enjoys it even more the longer it lingers.

As the hour rolls into the next and Clary’s line of artwork runs out, Magnus and Alec venture into the next wing over in search of more things to look at. Away from the social buffer of the gallery’s other patrons, their conversation gets harder to maintain. Less natural; stilted by the uncertainty of what comes next and the reluctance to part ways. They could see each other again if they wanted, but neither has made any moves in that direction. 

Whether they wish to admit it or not, their time together - and the unexpected magic of this _ thing _between them - is coming to an end. And Alec still isn’t ready to let go.

Magnus catches Alec’s eyes in his, and the quiet acceptance in the hanging silence effectively shuts the book. And that’s it. Magnus gifts him a small smile, and Alec meets it with one of his own, drawing closer when Magnus holds his hand out for him. Drawing even closer as Magnus brings him in against him, then slings his arms around Alec’s shoulders, a warm hand resting on his nape.

Alec nuzzles in for a kiss, because he’s feeling brave and he wants the chance of one more. And Magnus kisses him back, pulls him closer still until they’re embracing warmly, mouths working gently against each other. Like time isn’t even a concept.

Coming apart feels a little like waking up. Alec’s not sure if he’s a fan.

“Well, Alec,” Magnus grins a little tiredly, hands moving down his arms, “It’s been unreal.”

Alec grabs hold when their fingers brush, unable to let go, “Yeah.”

Magnus swings their joined hands back and forth, chuckling. A playful last attempt at delaying the inevitable. The same inevitable that he hasn’t yet made a move to stop. That old familiar slide of disappointment begins to work it’s way past Alec’s compromised defences; dusty for lack of use, but still as awful as he remembers. Magnus isn’t going to make a move. And what if Alec’s not brave enough to do it for them?

That jaded inner voice idly wonders what fresh hell he’s trying to tumble himself into next, and it tells him to _ quit playing _ and return to safety. But he looks at the beautiful, hopeful man in front of him; this beautiful man he wants to know better...and he can’t. In fact, he refuses. If there was ever a time to be brave, it would be now.

So fuck it. 

_ Here goes nothing. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> #SuperficialPea  
Twitter: [@SuperficialPea](http://twitter.com/SuperficialPea)


End file.
